Scott C. Smith: The winter of their discontent

Friday

Jan 30, 2009 at 12:01 AMJan 30, 2009 at 12:22 PM

You’re stuck outdoors in the open for unending hours. The biting cold constantly confronts you, an inescapable object, an undefeatable force swirling around you no matter what direction you turn, what place you face.

Scott C. Smith

You’re stuck outdoors in the open for unending hours. The biting cold constantly confronts you, an inescapable object, an undefeatable force swirling around you no matter what direction you turn, what place you face.

Turn, turn, keep turning; it slaps your cheeks sharply – not because it seeks to but because you’re in its way. No matter where you are, you’re in its way. You can’t escape it, no matter how badly you might want to.

The only thing you can do is keep moving and wait, wait for the wind to subside, wait for the sun to offer a shiver of warmth. The wind wanes, the sun rises, 20 degrees seems sensational. It’s going to be a great day.

I drove by Plymouth Beach the other morning around 7. I was toasty warm in my car. The morning air stood quietly, its temperature hovered at 10 or 15 degrees, and ice coated part of the harbor. Seeing the ice, I thought about the cold temperature of winter. I like winter more than most people, but I’m also cautious of its power, and I recall times of feeling frozen and seeking shelter.

In that regard, my mind wondered back a few centuries. I thought of what life must have been like for the Pilgrims that first winter.

Imagine laying into harbor in the year 1620 at the beginning of winter and actually making a survivable settlement, scraping together a few structures to break the wind and offer a modicum of heat from inefficient fireplaces. Offloading the Mayflower lasted a good while, as the shoal harbor wouldn’t allow anchoring near shore.

Wood for building and burning had to be cut and gathered; food had to be hunted; the ill had to be tended. As Gov. William Bradford would later write, in two or three months time half of the company of a hundred-odd settlers died, especially in January and February, being the depth of winter, and wanting houses and other comforts, and being infected with scurvy and other diseases, which the long voyage and their unaccommodating condition had brought upon them.

Here are Bradford’s words, from his history of the colony that he wrote over several years, "Of Plimoth Plantation." This passage is borrowed from Pilgrim Hall Museum’s Web site:

“In these hard & difficulte beginings they found some discontents & murmurings arise amongst some, and mutinous speeches & carriags in other; but they were soone quelled & overcome by ye wisdome, patience, and just & equall carrage of things by ye Govr and better part, wch clave faithfully togeather in ye maine. But that which was most sadd & lamentable was, that in 2. or 3. moneths time halfe of their company dyed, espetialy in Jan: & February, being ye depth of winter, and wanting houses & other comforts; being infected with ye scurvie & other diseases, which this long vioage & their inacomodate condition had brought upon them; so as ther dyed some times 2. or 3. of a day, in ye foresaid time; that of 100. & odd persons, scarce 50. remained. And of these in ye time of most distres, ther was but 6. or 7. sound persons, who, to their great comendations be it spoken, spared no pains, night nor day, but with abundance of toyle and hazard of their owne health, fetched them woode, made them fires, drest them meat, made their beads, washed their lothsome cloaths, cloathed & uncloathed them; in a word, did all ye homly & necessarie offices for them wch dainty & quesie stomacks cannot endure to hear named; and all this willingly & cherfully, without any grudging in ye least, shewing herein their true love unto their friends & bretheren. A rare example & worthy to be remembred. Two of these 7. were Mr. William Brewster, ther reverend Elder, & Myles Standish, ther Captein & military comander, unto whom my selfe, & many others, were much beholden in our low & sicke condition.”

One can easily imagine the discontent and murmurings, the second guessing and weary wondering. And as people fell ill and died – sometimes two or three a day – imagine the sense of inevitability that must have overwhelmed some, death’s eye peeking past thin walls. And then imagine the pull of the power of survival, the fortitude, the determination to outlast winter, the patience, the endurance to survive until spring, the validation.

Survival led to success. Perseverance led to prosperity. These abstract states defined the invisible character, gave form to the future of this magnificent colony.

I continued my drive, still toasty warm. I felt immensely grateful to those amazing men and women, who 388 years ago survived the cold months, welcomed the warm months, and then went about the work of living.

Later that day, I got my copy of Bradford’s book, stretched out on the couch in the afternoon sun, and read a few pages before drifting off. Thank you, William Bradford, for recording this great event. Thank you, Pilgrims, for everything. You’re the best.

Scott C. Smith is the senior managing editor of GateHouse Media New England based in Plymouth, Mass. E-mail scsmith@cnc.com.

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